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Sunday, June 26, 2011

The Mister is in the hospital tonight, getting big doses of drugs and being MRI-ed and other sorts of exciting Things and Stuffs. I am home with the Short People, all of whom are tucked into their beds. Well, Henry is tucked into my bed, because he doesn't like to sleep in his bed at night or on days that end in Y.

It is very late, and it seems I will just have to wait until morning for the official news about how broken he is.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Congrats to Hanna for winning the $25 Wendy's gift card, courtesy of Wendy's and The Motherhood. I utilized a very scientific method for selecting the winner, and it goes like this:

Me: Olivia, pick a number between 1 and 23.

O: Why?

Me: The blog. Just pick.

O: Ummm, uh, hmmmm..... uh, ummmm.... 15?

Me: Perfect. Good work.

So, Hanna, email me at thedaytontime(at)gmail(dot)com and let me know where to send your gift card. And if I don't hear from Hanna in 48 hours, I'll utilize the same scientific method to select another winner.

Friday, June 17, 2011

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I do things that cause me to be really tired and out-of-sorts. Aaaaaaand possibly cause my short people to be tired and out of sorts. Which, in turn, causes me to become a little bit more sassy than I am on any given Tuesday.

There was a field trip. A never-ending, self-inflicted field trip. And it was after dinner time and I was starving and hot and I wanted ice cream so SURPRISE!!! ICE CREAM FOR DINNER!!!

We pulled into the Blondie's parking lot, and everybody piled out of the supercool minicoopervan, and into the store. I told the short people they could order anything they wanted, but that we would be not eating ice cream in cones because we are not eating gluten this month.

Four short people did not care about The Cone Restrictions. One short person did. There's a reason why his nickname is the H-Bomb. The H-Bomb exploded into a million screaming minions. The boy at the counter was not impressed, despite my gentle parenting attempts (read: talking slowly and methodically whilst holding something that is bolted to the floor so as not to beat the ever-living out of a child). The 79th WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY CAN'T I HAVE A CONE?!?!?!?! pushed me right off my rocker.

My response? BECAUSE YOU'RE ANNOYING!!!!!!! Shouted in the exact same tone of voice and volume as the H-Bomb.

I'm not saying it was the right thing to do. But. He stopped shouting, I win, the end. And you know you've been there. (Unless you don't have short people of your own, in which case, PREPARE YOURSELF, BECAUSE YOU WILL, MOST ASSUREDLY, BE THERE.) Also, the boy behind the counter about fell down laughing, and that was a teensy bit awesome.

H-Bomb then took the road less traveled in the Dayton culture, and that is Passive-Aggressive Avenue. We will not discuss this, and will pretend that it did not happen for 40 minutes. Why? Because that is how you deal with the Passive-Aggressive, or else you will kill them.

And because my luck had run out completely by that time, everybody decided they needed to pee. Does Blondie's the sit-down ice cream place have a bathroom? NO. But really? They do, and the nice people that work there will let you take a little girl to the bathroom when she has to pee, especially when you're outnumbered 5 to 1.

Me: My girls need to pee. I know you don't normally allow people to use the bathroom, but it's not like I can send them outside to the bushes.

Him: No.

Me: Please?

Him: No.

Me: Really? Let me explain the effort, and the length of time it will take to get all these people to a place with a bathroom.

Him: I don't care. You can't use the bathroom.

Jack: I'll just go pee in the weeds.

Him: The girls can pee in the weeds, too.

Me: Yeah, except they can't. We try to avoid peeing in the weeds, you know, that little POISON IVY-slash-VA.G.INA combination? NOT GOOD.

Him: ::Blank.freaking.stare.::

Me: Can you even imagine what it's like to have poison ivy on your va.gi.na?

Him: Uh, I don't *have* a v.agi.na, so I can't relate.

Me: You don't? I bet you could find it if you looked for it. It's probably under your bed in your mom's house, right next to your soul.

And then he walked away from me. I'm pretty sure he's not going anywhere near anybody's v.agi.na anytime soon... unless he locates his, which is likely filled with crabs.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

It started off a somewhat disappointing day. We piled into the supercool minivan and headed to the Farmers' Market; it was opening day, and the short people just couldn't wait to get there. The weather didn't cooperate, 55 degrees, windy, rain-ish. There was asparagus and some really expensive strawberries.

Maybe next week.

We ran a few more errands and decided to visit the library. It's been a REALLY long time since we've been there, thank God for multiple renewals, and the short people chattered and chirped as short people always do. Except Elliott. He's been a little on the shriek-y side lately, and I made a point of shushing him as I put the books in the return slot, while watching the top three make their way to the elevator, magic portal to the Children's Room.

I didn't want to put all of the library books in the return bin, we are using some for school, and they needed to be renewed. While I was sorting and watching and returning and shushing, a man got up from his computer station and walked over to me.

Him: Did you know your children are playing in the elevator? He was sneering at me.

Me: I did know that. Thank you. I continued to sort and watch and return and shush.

Him: Your children are obnoxious. Even my three year old knows to be quiet in a library.

Me: Well. Good for your kid. And to be clear, I did not say that. I thought it.

I'm not sure if it was the lack of response that flipped his switch, but the man WENT. OFF. I can't remember what he said exactly, but he was up in my face and screaming about calling Child Protective Services and having my kids taken away.

I was really scared. Never in my adult life has a large man wanted to fight me in a library. Or anywhere. And also, nobody's really ever picked a fight with me before, which is good, because I think I'm kind of a chicken.

But.

I was also furious. How dare he tell me I am an unfit mother because my kids talked in a library? Who is he to call the authorities and report me? He was being threatening and intimidating and a general crazy-ass jerk, and there were at least 25 people watching him rip me a new one.

I did a very, very bad thing. People, I shouted in a library. LOUDLY.

How about you practice a little bit of grace, hmmm??? Maybe a little kindness and understanding for a mama who is CLEARLY on top of things, and who does nothing but parent these small people 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with NO.BREAK.EVER. And how about you pull that stick out of your ass, sit down and leave me alone.

Oh dear... I did two bad things. I shouted really loudly in a library, and I also shouted ASS in a library, in a very superty loud voice.

He continued on with his rant, and his promises to call CPS. I happen to know the number, because I've called it before, so I shouted it to him. Twice. Maybe three times. And I backed away from him. His last comment was something about how that day was the last day I'd see my children.

Really? Tell them my name is Pamela Dayton, and I say BRING IT.

And then I threw up a little. Thank God my children were playing in the elevator.

Not one of those 25 people said a word. Not the library staff, not anybody. Well, one of the library staff mouthed, "Sorry" to me. But they did not remind him of the rules, they did not ask him to leave, they did not call him out for being a menacing bully. Epic fail, library. Epic.

Thank God that I am friends with the Children's Room librarians, and that one of them was there when I walked downstairs. The director of the library came to the Children's Room to apologize to me for his behaviour, which was a nice thought, I guess, but really? Not enough. Not nearly enough.

It is never alright to allow a bully to be a bully. It doesn't matter if the bully is 5, 18, or a 40-something 6-foot-plus man weighing over 200 pounds. It is not okay.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

The Mister has this thing that he does all the time, and it's called WORK. This does lend an element of stress to things, but since I do not like to give stress any sort of power in my life, I like to think of it in a different way. Meaning this: I call that The Mister works all the time NORMAL, and I just deal.

I do admit, I throw the occasional temper tantrum about taking out the garbage, and sometimes I don't do the dishes because I need to get through the day and doing the dishes will push me over the precipice. Dishes give me the stress, for real, people. Clean ones in the dishwasher, dirty ones in the sink, it's all the same to me.

This is not about dishes.

This is about the thing that I do all the time, and it's called OVER-DO-ING, or, in smaller words, DOING TOO MUCH.

For example.

On the morning of the fourth day (possibly the fourth day, I honestly don't keep track) of being alone with the short people, I got the MOST! BRILLIANT! IDEA!!! EVER!!! to go to the Genesee Country Village & Museum. With the short people. And an additional short person.

The INSANITY. It killeth. Or maimeth. Or causeth the alcoholism.

I will spare you the icky details, like the incessant screaming, and the superty fast running (I do not.run.ever.), and the superty slow walking, and the humitidy, and how it didn't thunderstorm despite the 80% chance of thunderstorming that was going to cause the trip to last only 2 hours, when in reality we were there for like 6. Or six hundred. But I will say that the additional short person gave rave reviews of the trip to anybody who would listen to her, so points for me.

The second most brilliant thing I did that day was to take all the short people for an ice cream dinner. Which is a post all on its own.

The third most brilliant thing I did that day was to take all the short people to Target after running them ragged, feeding them ice cream for dinner, and stopping along the way to watch a parade.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The past three days have been insane. So nutso-whack-job-crazy that I am having a hard time remembering specifics from these days, and they're starting to all roll into one, and combine with last Monday. Which, may I point out, was NOT THREE DAYS AGO.

Anyway.

Two things, and then I'm going to go outside and get the box of little chicklets and bring them to the porch, and then I'm going to bed, to sleep for approximately three days.

Thing Number One: I am giving away a $25 gift card to Wendy's. I was going to close comments on Friday (I think, but remember what I said up there about being confused and blendy-ish.). I haven't closed comments or chosen a winner yet, so if you're a slacker busy person like me who has a life outside of The Interwebs, go ahead and leave a comment.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The Brain Pain Situation: I had no migraines for 22 days. And then I have had one 3 of the last four days. I'm choosing to be happy and grateful for the 22 pain-free days. Coincidentally, my body pain is way up these past few days, too. Trying to figure that out. Meh.

The Chicken Situation: I have caused no chicken deaths in the past 15 days. Neither purposefully nor inadvertently. Yay, me.

The Wendy's Gift Card Situation: I am surprised that so few of you have left a comment HERE. Do you not have a Wendy's near you? Do you not know about the Double Stack? You could totally purchase 25 Double Stacks if you lived near me and won the gift card. I could eat 25 Double Stacks, that's for sure.

The Beach Situation: The short people have been asking about going to the beach for, well, since around Christmas. It opens June 18th. You'd think I told them it was not ever going to reopen. They have all torn their clothes and adorned themselves with ashes.

The Disgusting Expression of Displeasure: Henry has decided to expel air through his nose with extreme force whenever we tell him something he does not like. And sometimes, for extra beauty, boogers come out. Kids are awesome.

The Sad Boy Situation: Elliott has decided that one minute without me is entirely too much for him. I have decided that this is entirely too much for me.

The "Borrowed" Baby Situation: I have a new friend (well, new to YOU), and she has a tiny baby (well, new-tiny, not tiny-tiny) and yesterday Tiny Baby A was not being kind to the mama, so I taught New Friend about the beauty of the stretchy wrap, and now Tiny Baby A is being kind to the mama. BUT!!! New Friend was super stressed by the days of incessant screaming, so I put Tiny Baby A in my stretchy wrap and took her home with me. When we arrived home (we walked, for the record, just to be clear), I sat down for a minute. Henry marched up to me, put his hands on his hips, and scolded, WHO SAID YOU COULD TAKE THAT BABY HOME? YOU DON'T TAKE PEOPLE'S BABIES!!! It was kind of awesome. And yes, I did give Tiny Baby A back.

Friday, June 3, 2011

I have the good fortune to be in like Flynn with The Motherhood, and when The Motherhood wants to take you out to lunch? Of course you go! The short people and I met up with some lovely blogger mamas and their short people.

All the mamas ordered the new Berry Almond Chicken Salad, named quite cleverly after the berries, almonds, and chicken that sit on top of the salad.

The salad was alright. I need to come clean with you, I don't order salads from fast food restaurants. I just don't, mostly because I don't like store-bought salad dressing. However. The chicken and almond combination was good; the chicken was moist and the almonds were salty and crunchy, which are two of my favorite qualities in a food item. And the green part of the salad was good, too. Wendy's uses real! actual! dark green lettuces, which are three of my favorite qualities in a lettuce leaf. There was a generous handful of blueberries, and one pathetic strawberry cut into quarters. The strawberry was but an overripe shadow of its former self, and Henry pecked it off my plate faster than, ummm, something that pecks things really fast.

For a salad that comes with fat free dressing, it packed a lot of fat - 16 grams and 150 calories, also 31 grams of sugar, and a whopping 1300 milligrams of sodium.

I had a superty fancy Wild Berry Tea, which rolls in at 140 calories, 15 milligrams of sodium and 28 grams of sugar, which really makes it Wild Berry Non-Carbonated Soda, or Wild Berry High Fructose Tea-ish.

My meal cost about $10, which is way more than I'd normally spend on lunch out. I'm a burger and fries girl, and after checking with the nutrition information on the Wendy's website, I think I'll stick with a double stack and a root beer. Link to Wendy's nutrition information

Want to win a $25 gift card to Wendy's? Leave me a comment. You can tell me what you'd order if you win, who you'd take to lunch, or what you were thinking about when you woke up this morning. There have been some commenting issues with Blogger lately, so if you can't post here, please friend me on the effbooks and leave me a note there, and you'll be entered. Or leave me a comment both places, and I'll give you two entries. (It'd be superty helpful if you could leave your effbook comment on the link to this post that I put on my wall.) Comments will be closed Friday, June 10, sometime around noonish.

Aaaaaand because The Man has his hand on teh bloggamamas, I'm telling you that Wendy's and The Motherhood provided me with two $25 gift cards, one that we used for lunch, and one that I'm giving away. I am also being compensated for my time and the clearly honest opinion I've given.